Starbright

By Catherine Hall

If they fail, their world will end…

Banished from her kingdom by the evil Queen Morag, Princess Gwyneth, a young sorceress, is forced to undertake an urgent and perilous quest to recover a powerful ring from the bottomless Well of Souls, deep inside the dreaded Spider Forest.

But first Gwyneth must rescue Starbright, a unicorn, imprisoned inside The Crystal Mountain. Because only Starbright's horn can neutralize the poisoned water in the Well of Souls.

On a journey fraught with danger, Gwyneth is confronted by every nightmare she's ever had, plus some she never could have imagined. Along the way, she rescues a fish from a dying lake, a hive of bees from a fire, and a falcon from a deadly eagle attach. Unable to leave them behind to face certain death, she takes them with her.

In the final, cataclysmic showdown at the Well of Souls, as Gwyneth and Morag are locked in a battle to the death, the Princess discovers that even the smallest creatures can be powerful allies. And that not everything is as it seems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Shelton
• Release date: May 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393708506

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by

Catherine Hall

COPYRIGHT PAGE

Starbright

Copyright 2020 by Catherine Hall

First Ebook publication, February, 2020

Cover design by ArtByMel

All cover art and logo copyright 2020 by Melissa C. Krauss

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

STARBRIGHT PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

GENERAL RULES

NOTE:

W is always pronounced like oo as in food. It functions as a vowel.

Y is pronounced like ih as in with or ee as in feed. It also functions as a vowel.

HOW TO PRONOUNCE THE INDIVIDUAL NAMES AND PLACES

Aeric – Air ik

Allric – All rik

Arwn – Ar oon

Caedwar – Kayd war

Caryd – Care id

Carregh Dân – Care egg Don

Draig - Drayg

Drŵch – Drooch

Dûw – Doo

Fflan – Flahn

Gnâf – Nahf

Gwylm – Gwill um

Gwyneth – Gwih neth

Gyda – Ghee da

Halwyn – Hall win

Heryr – Hair -ur

Kasmirkand – Kaz meer kahnd

Lhianna – Lee ah na

Lhyra – Lee ra

Lhysy – Lee see

Melyn – Mel in

Morag – Mor ag

Mynydd – Min id

Myrthyn – Mur thin

Mhla’Ned – Mlah Ned

Nwrhyn – Noo Rin

Olwyd – Ol wid

Paradwys – Pair a dwiss

Rhonwen – Rahn win

Rhwn – Roon

Rhwystw - Roo iss too

Ryven – Ry vin

Sŵn – Soon

Swllyra – Soo Lih ra

Swynwyr – Swin weer

Syrq – Seerk

Yndribw – In dri boo

Ywn - Yoon

THE TRIAD OF POWER

The Triad consists of three elements of immensely powerful magic. These include the Ring of Rhwn, the Crown of Syrq and the Sword of Lhianna. It is said that whoever owns all three elements will rule the world of Mhla’Ned. So, the Ancients, fearing the consolidation of so much power in the hands of one man, hid the three elements in the farthest corners of the world.

Two have been discovered and claimed. Queen Morag owns the Crown of Syrq, Queen Rhonwen of Myrthyn has the Ring of Rhwn. Only the Sword of Lhianna remains unclaimed, its whereabouts lost to the mists of time.

When Queen Rhonwen dies, she gives the Ring of Rhwn to her daughter, Princess Gwyneth. Both it and she are safe until King Allric, Gwyneth’s father, re-marries. His new wife is none other than Queen Morag, who has a secret reason for marrying King Allric. She is determined to wrest the Ring from the young Princess, who is just discovering that she is a swynwyr, a sorceress, who possesses great, untapped power of her own. Power that will be greatly enhanced by the additional power of the ring. Power that would be ineffective, however, against the combined power of the Ring and the Crown, especially if both were in Morag’s possession.

And Morag wants that Ring. She will stop at nothing to take it from Gwyneth. As owner of both the Ring and the Crown she intends to reign over the Nine Kingdoms of Mhla’Ned, using her power to enslave the entire population.

But rumors start spreading about a young prince, known only as the Black Knight. They say he has found the Sword of Lhianna and is bringing it to Princess Gwyneth to add its power to that of the Ring so she can defeat Morag. But, before the Black Knight can arrive in the Kingdom of Myrthyn, he disappears and the Sword once more disappears with him.

Who is the Black Knight? What happened to him? Will the Sword of Lhianna ever be found? Will the three elements of the Triad, the Ring of Rhwn, the Crown of Syrq, and the Sword of Lhianna ever be united? And, if so, who will be the one possessing them?

Starbright

CHAPTER ONE

M other!

Hiking up her long skirts, Gwyneth ran up the twisting stone steps two at a time. She could hardly wait to show her mother her latest treasure—an abandoned bird’s nest with the empty eggshell still in it! Ignoring the courtiers and servants huddled around the entrance, she burst through the door of her mother’s solar. The room was stifling hot and dark, the windows draped with heavy black fabric.

Mother! She wove her way through the crowd of people gathered around her mother’s sick-bed, thinking, why are all these people in here? Mother! Look what I’ve brought you!

Silence! The black-robed figure bending over the bed flung out his arm, as though to ward off this unwelcome intrusion into the Queen’s bedchamber. Then he turned and looked toward the source of the noise. Oh, ’t is you, Highness. His anger softened at the sight of the young Princess, flushed and disheveled from her latest excursion into the forest. But nothing could soften the deep lines of worry etched around his mouth and eyes. Please forgive me, my dear, I did not realize it was you.

She looked around the crowded room, noticing for the first time that all the ministers in her father’s High Council were present, as was the Head Priest from the Temple of Dûw. Indeed, he was hard to miss, with his bald head, golden robe, and bare arms laden with countless, gem-encrusted bracelets . There were others there, too, some of whom she’d never seen before.

Who are all these people? What are they doing here?

Why, they are keeping vigil, Your Highness, was Sir Geoffrey’s startled response. The passing of a Queen is an event of historic import—

Nonsense! she exclaimed. This is not a bear-baiting! ’T is a private, family matter! I want all these people out of here! Now! They can keep vigil somewhere else!

He stared at the twelve-year-old Princess, an expression of shock on his face at the vehemence in her tone.

Now, she repeated forcefully, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at the elderly surgeon when he made no move to obey her.

Aye, Your Highness. Right away. Flustered, he turned toward the gathered group, making shooing motions with his hands. All right, everyone, quickly now. Please honor Her Highness’s wishes and remove yourselves.

While everyone was turning to leave, Gwyneth walked over to the table beneath the tall, arched window and placed the bird’s nest there, alongside a pink quartz crystal, a red cardinal’s feather and other treasures she’d found in the forest and brought to her mother to help cheer her up.

Queen Rhonwen had insisted on displaying them prominently, where she could look at them from her bed. Before she’d taken ill, she had often joined Gwyneth on her excursions, teaching her daughter the various properties of the plants, mushrooms, and lichens they found.

How the Princess longed for a return of those days. But if what Sir Geoffrey had said about ‘the passing of the Queen,’ was true, that was never going to happen. Fighting tears, she turned and approached the bed.

Her mother, Queen Rhonwen, had never been strong, but for the past two years she had become completely bedridden, attended only by Sir Geoffrey, the court physician and Alys, her elderly lady-in-waiting.

Does my father know? Gwyneth asked,

Aye, Highness. His Majesty has been sent for.

She turned to look at her mother, so thin, so frail, her pale face almost the same color as the white linen sheet. The Queen’s breathing was agonizingly shallow, her breaths barely lifting the crimson silk coverlet that had been drawn up to her chin. Beads of sweat stood out on her smooth forehead.

Taking her mother’s hand in hers, Gwyneth was astonished at how cold it was. She kissed it, then held it to her cheek as if trying to warm it.

Mother, ’t is me. I’m here.

The Queen opened her eyes and looked at her daughter.

My darling child. Her voice was so weak it was barely a whisper.  She somehow managed a faint smile. I fear my time on this earth is drawing to an end.

Nay, Mother, nay! Do not say such things! You will feel better soon. I know it. And then we can explore the forest together, like we used to. Bending toward her mother, the Princess kissed her cold cheek, tears rolling soundlessly down her face.

With an effort, the Queen lifted her right hand. On her little finger was a gold ring with a center ruby the color of blood in a setting that resembled an elaborate crown. It was a ring that had always fascinated Gwyneth.

This is the Ring of Rhwn, Rhonwen told her distraught daughter. It has special powers. ’T is yours. It has always been yours. Take it. Wear it always as a talisman against evil. Once you put it on your finger, no one can take it from you. You, yourself can remove it only to give to another as a pledge of your deep and abiding love. Then, and only then, will the ring come off.

Groping blindly, barely able to see through the tears filling her eyes, Gwyneth fumbled for the heavy ring and slid it from her mother’s hand. A hand that the Queen’s illness had decimated to little more than skin and bones. Under her mother’s watchful, anxious eyes, she put it on her ring finger and lifted her hand to study it more closely.

As it caught a beam of sunlight, a shaft of brilliant red seemed to explode out into the room like a bolt of lightning. Jerking back, Gwyneth let out a startled cry. Her ring hand flew to her breast and she quickly covered it with the other one, gripping it tightly as tingles pulsed from the ring, up her arm and through her entire body, making her heart race.

Mama—

It will abate, child was all the Queen said, sounding tired. ’T is merely the power of the ring awakening the power inside you, opening you up to the Ywn.

The Ywn? Gwyneth had never heard of such a thing.

Aye. The Ywn is the spirit force that connects every living thing. Her voice turned fretful. Some of us are more receptive to it than others. You are one of those chosen few to be granted that ability. She sighed, a deep sigh tinged with regret. "Alas, there are so many things I wanted to teach you. Needed to teach you. About the ring. About you yourself. About your destiny. Things I fear you must now learn on your own. I tried to spare you, but I see now that that was wrong. By allowing you to have a carefree childhood, unburdened by this knowledge, I have left you unprepared and defenseless. So, sweet child, I beg your forgiveness."

Gwyneth just stood there, lost in confusion, her head moving slightly back and forth. Nay, Mother, I don’t understand. You’ve done nothing to be forgiven for.

Her mother just looked at her sadly. I love you, Gwyneth. Now, come closer, that I may hold you one last time.

Lower lip quivering, tears rolling down her cheeks, Gwyneth crawled up onto the mattress and stretched out alongside her mother.

With her last bit of strength, Queen Rhonwen tightened her arms around her sobbing daughter. Do not weep, Gwyneth. From the moment they laid you in my arms twelve years ago, you have brought nothing but joy into my life. And even though I may soon be gone from this physical realm, know that I will always be with you, as long as you call on the power of the Ywn.

But how do I do that? Gwyneth asked. Please don’t leave, Mother. I need you so much.

Rhonwen’s arms loosened and she turned her head to place a lingering kiss to Gwyneth’s forehead. Farewell, my darling girl. She lifted her hand to cradle her daughter’s cheek and attempted a faint smile. Be brave. Be strong. And know that I will always love you.

Mama— Gwyneth’s voice broke and she began crying uncontrollably. Sobs that ravaged her throat and wracked her body.

The Queen closed her eyes I’m sorry, child, she said, releasing her breath on a long, ragged sigh as life slipped quietly away from her body.

Mama. Mama! Don’t go, please don’t go! Frantically, Gwyneth shook her mother’s arm. Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me! Getting no response, she rose up on her knees and grabbed both of Rhonwen’s shoulders, shaking them in a last desperate attempt to bring life back to her wasted body. When she still got no response, she collapsed on her mother’s still form, sobbing inconsolably.

She barely felt the hands that gripped her upper arms and lifted her off the bed. Barely heard Sir Geoffrey’s voice saying, Calm yourself, Princess. Your mother is in the hands of Dûw now. There is nothing more we can do for her here.

Still sobbing, she offered no resistance to Alys’s arm around her, leading her, weeping and stumbling, from her mother’s solar back to her own bedchamber, where she cried until she fell asleep.

Morning dawned cold and foggy, with leaden skies and intermittent rain. The whole world seemed enshrouded in gloom as if it, too, were mourning the loss of Queen Rhonwen. As Gwyneth stood beside her father, King Allric, at the Queen’s burial ceremony in the family crypt, she didn’t even hear the words being spoken by the High Priest. She was mesmerized by the sight of the fog being ripped to shreds by the wind pushing it through the trees, the same way her heart was being ripped to shreds by grief.

At one point, longing for even the smallest bit of contact, her hand sought the comfort of her father’s much larger one. But, instead of taking it, he brushed it aside as if it were an annoying insect, sending fresh tears cascading from Gwyneth’s eyes. Tears that mingled with the falling rain on her cheeks and dripped, unheeded, to the ground.

As soon as the somber funerary procession returned to the palace, King Allric went straight to his quarters, refusing to see or speak to anyone, thus depriving both his daughter and himself of any solace or comfort they might have shared. So, she was left alone, wrapped in her own bottomless sorrow. She felt empty. Hollowed out by the grief that consumed her.

Fragments of her mother’s last, cryptic words kept ricocheting around in Gwyneth’s mind. Power of the Ywn...the power of the ring awakening the power inside you...needed to teach you...your destiny...

Crawling up onto her bed, she slid between the cold sheets and pulled the fur coverlet up over her head, refusing to come out even to eat. She slept fitfully, plagued by nightmarish visions of waking up all alone in the cold darkness of a tomb.

The next day, her normal routine resumed as if her life and future had not suddenly and irrevocably changed. As if, deep inside, there was not now a gaping hole in her heart left by her mother’s death. She spent the morning with her tutors, half-heartedly resuming her lessons where they’d left off two days before. That afternoon, however, unable to rid herself of last night’s nightmares, she found herself at the far end of the garden staring at the family mausoleum.

She shivered. Even though yesterday’s rain and fog had dissipated and the sun was shining, it still felt dark and gloomy. Pulling her cloak more closely about her, Gwyneth studied the elaborate structure.

Standing at the edge of the forest, separated from it only by the stream that burbled along behind it, it was built like a miniature cathedral. The tall, arched entrance was flanked by enormous statues of the goddesses of loss and grief, Hraeth on the left and Galar on the right. The interior was accessible through wrought-iron gates. Slowly she moved closer, climbing up the steps until she could see the stained-glass window in the back wall of the crypt through the openings in the gates. The sunlight streaming through the glass cast rainbow colors on the smooth, marble floor inside.

Approaching the statue of Galar, Gwyneth reached into the tight space behind the goddess’s foot and withdrew the key she herself had hidden there. Growing up, she’d spent many long hours with Dickon, the gardener. Both he and her mother had taught her much about the healing properties of various herbs and plants. When her mother had been too busy to join her in her excursions into the forest, Gwyneth had helped Dickon as he’d bustled about his duties. One of her favorites had been maintaining neatness and order in the castle burial grounds and sweeping the leaves and debris blown into the crypt’s interior by the wind.

Quickly glancing around to make sure she was unobserved, she unlocked the gates and went inside.

In the center of the chamber was a raised sarcophagus. A monument to King Aeric, the first King of Myrthyn. A marble effigy of the dead King in full armor lay atop the plinth. His left hand gripped the sword that was carved atop his chest. His feet rested against a small marble pillow. A silent procession of heavily robed mourners, carved in high relief, marched eternally around the sides of the tomb.

Other sarcophagi, their ends lined up side by side along both side walls of the crypt, were filled with the moldering remains of past kings and queens. Her mother’s was second from the last on the right-hand side, the one next to it being reserved for her father. The wooden coffin, which had sat atop the plinth during yesterday’s ceremony, was no longer there. During the night, workmen had lowered it inside the sarcophagus and the flat, marble lid had been set back in place, sealing her mother forever in total darkness. Cringing inwardly at the thought, Gwyneth reached out to touch the cold, smooth marble of her mother’s final resting place.

All her life, as far back as she could remember, she had been afraid of the dark and the monstrous things it had the power to conceal. Her mother had made sure to leave a rush light burning, so if Gwyneth happened to wake during the night, she would not be in pitch black darkness. How she wished she could do the same for her mother now. Hunching her shoulders, she shook her head, trying to push those morbid thoughts out of her mind.

To no avail.

Suddenly the numbness that had enabled Gwyneth to get through the day’s activities melted away, opening up the floodgates of despair. As she sank to the floor beside the marble box where her mother was now entombed, she began to sob. Huge, heaving, uncontrollable sobs that continued wracking her body long after the actual tears had dried up. Finally, exhausted, she crawled up on top of the plinth and simply lay there, resting her cheek against the smooth, cool marble and talking quietly to her mother, pleading with her to come back.

And as she talked, a sense of calm settled over her, as if her mother’s spirit were standing beside her, soothing her. Eventually, she was comforted enough to be able to dry her tears and formulate a plan. Heart much lighter, she slid off the plinth, said good-bye to her mother, and left the building, carefully locking the gate and replacing the key behind Galar’s foot. Then she set off to find the gardener.

As soon as he saw her, he dragged his woolen cap off his head and fell to one knee before her, lowering his head. Your Highness. How may I serve thee?

Dickon, I would like to take over all responsibility for the upkeep of the family mausoleum.

His head jerked up, a look of shock on his face. But, but, Highness, he stammered. ’T is not seemly for thee— thou art a Princess— He shook his head. Nay, nay, nay, I could not possibly—His Majesty would have my head if I—

Please, Dickon. Reaching down, she took the elderly man’s hands and urged him up. The loss of my mother is so new and painful, she added as a final point of persuasion, Being near to her, even in death, would be a source of great comfort to me. Would you deny me that?

Twisting his cap in his fingers, Dickon shook his head vehemently. Oh, nay, Princess. ’T would be the end of me to cause thee pain.

Thank you. Nearly overcome with relief, she gave his gnarled hands a gentle squeeze. I would also like to plant some flowers. May I have use of any tools I might need? I promise to return them.

Of course, Highness. You need never ask my permission for anything you desire to do. You would have it always.

Thank you, Dickon.

Lifting her skirts, she ran into the castle and up the winding stone steps to her mother’s solar. Expecting to find it empty and dark, as it had been yesterday after the Queen’s body had been taken away, Gwyneth was shocked at the sight that greeted her eyes.

Servants bustled about scrubbing and sweeping. They had removed the black drapes from the windows, the drapes that had kept the sick-room dark and gloomy for so long. The casement windows were open wide, letting fresh air and sunlight into the room for the first time in years. One woman was rifling through the trunk where Queen Rhonwen kept her cotehardies and kirtles. Another knelt in front of the open doors of the corner cupboard, removing the books and stacking them on the floor. Crossing to the table beneath the window, Gwyneth was dismayed to find it bare. A quick search of the drawer confirmed her worst suspicions.

Wait! Stop! She held up her hand. All activity ceased.

Those things— Gwyneth waggled her finger toward the table. The things that were right there on that table. What happened to them? Where are they?

Why, the maid looked bewildered by Gwyneth’s agitation. You mean them rocks and twigs and feathers and such? We thought they was naught but rubbish. We dumped ’em on the trash heap this morning.

Gwyneth’s shoulders sagged.

"We could send a scullery boy